


Centaur

by RoryKurago



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Cowboys & Cowgirls, Gen, Horseback Riding, australian outback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25274131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoryKurago/pseuds/RoryKurago
Summary: How does a Raafie know how to pilot a helo? Where does a used-up Ranger go to hide from the end of the world?There are simple answers for simple men.
Relationships: Hercules Hansen & Scott Hansen
Kudos: 2
Collections: Rory's 100 Themes Writing Challenge





	Centaur

**Author's Note:**

> #91: Centaur

Herc rolled the ute to a halt at the end of a barren red track that had ceased to be a road a hundred kilometres back, and leaned over the wheel to watch.

It was a rare and mysterious quality of the Red Centre that it swallowed everything given and gave nothing back. It had taken Herc months to track Scott down. The vast mob of cattle funnelling across a deep creek dragged him back in time—forty years, give or take, before he knew Kaiju, or even the smell of the sea.

He was a child again: cracked lips, sunburnt skin peeling off his ears, and permanent thirst. He was a teen, jumping into the cattle station’s lead chopper while Scott climbed into the second, spinning up for another day quick, dangerous, and breath-taking with skill. The land fell away beneath them. Red smooth as a hazelnut. Scrubby green patchy as a kid’s first beard. Black-thread canyons. Roos streaming away from the roar of the rotors like ants. All strangely similar to the view atop a Jaeger. The boys could ride, of course – everyone could – but as an afterthought. They were first sky-ringers.

But now: Scott wheeled his horse with his knees, stockwhip raised and white shirt rosy with dirt—red and gold in the sun like the statue centre of a dusty country town. Turning the mob like an old country song. A horseman.

“Fuck me rigid,” Herc muttered. Reckon Manila had changed a few things after all.

Maybe the nerve damage had fucked his reflexes. Maybe he couldn’t stand to see the land drop away anymore.

Maybe he just couldn’t take the idea that he’d fuck up one day and die in a crashing fireball. The Ranger Curse. He’d already run as far from the sea as possible.

Sunlight must have glinted off the windshield. Scott’s turned in the saddle and shaded his eyes with an arm. Herc thought he saw the grimy face twist.

Then Scott raised his hat off his head, and tipped it toward another creek crossing in the near distance with a gentler gradient. Herc could follow the mob to camp. Whatever had to be said, it could be said there.

Satisfied he’d done his part, the horseman wheeled back to his charges. He geed his horse after them no hands—one with the animal. He’d adjusted better than Herc would’ve guessed to a live mount after a lifetime of mechanical ones.

**Author's Note:**

> Helo Ringers are goddamn impressive, but also have an INSANE mortality rate. Go check out the vids on Youtube. Impress your friends with new Australian trivia.


End file.
